


Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, England (Country), F/M, France (Country), Germany, Holmes Brothers, London, M/M, Oxford, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 15:03:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14696622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: The early life and times of the three Holmes brothers as seen by Mr. Sherrinford Holmes.





	Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet

**December 1929**

_'Somewhere in the vaults of the bank of Cox and Co, at Charing Cross, there is a travel-worn and battered tin despatch-box with my name, John H. Watson, M.D, Late Indian Army, painted upon the lid. It is crammed with papers, nearly all of which are records of cases to illustrate the curious problems which Mr. Sherlock Holmes had at various times to examine.'_  
From _The Problem At Thor Bridge_

_Narration by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

I always found it puzzling that, given the generally high regard that people had held for the recently-departed Doctor John Hamish Watson M.D, they then somehow assumed that he would have not only left but one copy of his case records, but also advertized its whereabouts to the sort of people for whom robbery and murder were something to fit in along with sending out for a sandwich. He was, as he said to me on more than one occasion, more than well aware that many people would be after those records, and even the offices of the efficient Cox's Bank could surely not prevail against all of them (as indeed they did not). Which was why he also entrusted copies of those records to myself, with the instruction that, should an attempt be made on the originals, I was fully empowered to send said copies to as many people as I so wished. 

John had died earlier that same month (December). His beloved Sherlock was of course with him until the end, and the two of us had the frankly horrible task of sorting through his possessions. Naturally we discussed the attempt on his papers, and Sherlock surprised me by saying that in view of that then maybe it was time that at least some of the many unpublished cases saw the light of day. 

The two of us drew up an initial list of over one hundred cases, all of which had been mentioned to some extent in the original stories. Upon further examination my brother refused publication of some of these for various reasons, and in the end I was left with a total of eighty-one cases. There were three others that I particularly wished to have made public, and after some inquiries concerning the people involved he was able to grant his sanction for them as well, which meant that the new expanded Sherlock canon will now include a whole gross of tales. It is therefore with great pleasure that I, Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet, present this octagintaquadrology (group of eighty-four) 'new' cases further illustrating my clever youngest brother's brilliance to the Nation.

۩۩۩۩E♔RI۩۩۩۩

My name is Sherrinford Johnson Holmes. I was born in the year 1845, the eldest son of Mr. Siger John Holmes, a rich Sussex squire, and Miss Violet Sherrinford, only daughter to Mr. Percy Sherrinford of Towton, Yorkshire. Mr. Percy Sherrinford's mother had been married to one of the Vernets, the famous family of French painters, so their creative blood also ran in our veins. Our estate was a fair-sized one and we lived easily enough, plus as the eldest son I would stand to inherit all. I was also fortunate in that I inherited my looks from my paternal grandfather Mr. Sweyn Holmes who was very much the atypical Viking, rather than my father who, more than one person remarked to me, looked like a vulture awaiting its prey. I did not inherit the brains of my two younger siblings (who were perhaps less fortunate to take after our father in looks), but one cannot have everything.

I do not remember much of my early life except that it was largely happy. The only slight mar was when I was two and I acquired a brother Mycroft Swegn Holmes, with whom I never really got along. He was very much his father's child whilst I was my mother's, although the rapidity with which he learnt new skills drove me to try to match him for which I suppose I should have been grateful (I was not). Over the following years my parents tried for a third child, but my mother suffered two miscarriages and then a stillbirth. It looked as if I might be stuck with just Mycroft (ugh!), but when I was nine years old my mother was after a difficult birth safely delivered of her third child, a son whom they called William Sherlock Scott Holmes. He was a sickly child and the doctors despaired for both him and my mother for some time. Fortunately however both pulled through, although she was strongly warned against bearing any further children.

The origins of my own name are obvious, but I shall take a moment to explain those of my brothers. Mycroft was the name of the house on our one small Scottish landholding in Morayshire in which my parents were living when he had been born (possibly the only time in his life that he has ever been early!), whilst Sweyn Holmes was our paternal grandfather. Two of Sherlock's names came from his grandmothers, Diana Sherrinford (née Scott) and Jane Holmes (née Williams). I have no idea why my parents went for Sherlock as a second name, especially as it was the one my younger sibling would become renowned for. It was an unfortunate choice as it meant someone with close-cut hair ('sheared locks'), rather inappropriate as Sherlock not only inherited the vulture-like appearance of his maternal grandfather but also because my youngest brother's hair never seemed to have had more than a passing acquaintance with a hair-brush!

Sherlock remained a sickly child in his first year of life and, deciding that a change of climate might benefit him the family decamped to France, first to Bordeaux and then Montpellier, both of which I quite liked. We only returned to England in 1860 on the death of my great-uncle Walter (Mr. Percy Sherrinford's elder brother), whose death without any heirs meant that some of his money would one day come to me. We had visited him on a couple of occasions before our departure and made what were clearly variable impressions; I received a sum of money for my use when I reached twenty-one and Sherlock received the gentleman's entire library, except for one book on good manners which he bequeathed to Mycroft.

Did I mention how much I liked Great-Uncle Walter?

We settled briefly in the Victoria area of London but my parents and I did not like it, although both Mycroft and Sherlock did. Hence the following year we left for Cologne, where my father had acquired a house for three years as a base for a Grand Tour of the Continent. These were very popular in those far-off days; rather less so now given the mess much of Europe has gotten itself into before and after the Great War. We did not return to England until 1864, when my father purchased a pleasant house in the leafy suburb of Kennington in south London. I was nineteen that year and was fortunate enough to be accepted to Christ Church College in Oxford, whither I departed to begin my adult life at last.

۩۩۩۩V♔R۩۩۩۩

It was at Christ Church that certain events happened that would come to shape my life. I was a quiet, bookish young lad and did not make friends easily, except for the gentleman who shared my room. Thor Hardland had the same Viking blood that I myself did, and despite the fact that he was several years my elder, we bonded surprisingly well. Looking back with the advantage of hindsight I suppose that there was an element of hero-worship on my part; we may have both looked the part of Viking adventurers but he fulfilled it far more than I did, taking part in most of the sports available at the college and being very popular. I suspect that it was my friendship with him that prevented me from being bullied by the older students; Thor had a Viking temper on him when roused.

Thor's father was a London businessman of some sort, and he owned a large house on Canvey Island where the Thames widens into the North Sea. My friendship with his son was such that I was invited to spend the half-term week there. Fatefully I accepted.

Chafford House was to all intents and purposes run by Thor's elder sister Patricia, and sad to report I was soon forced to concur with his well-expressed sentiment that she was, as the Victorians would so rightly say, 'no better than she ought to be'. Most alarmingly she developed some fixation on me, presumably because I was an eldest son, and I spent as much time as I could with Thor in an attempt to avoid her. Unfortunately as matters turned out he had to spend one night in London sorting out some business his father had in the docks. I would like to say that I was not nervous at Miss Hardland's predatory stares that evening, but it would be a lie. Thor had laughed at me and had said I was fortunate his late mother Thyra was not still alive, as that was from whom his sister had inherited her 'ways'.

Most unwisely I sought refuge in alcohol and went to bed feeling tired out. I woke the next morning however to find that I was not alone. Miss Hardland had taken advantage of her inebriation to slip into bed with me, and from the lack of nightclothes.... as I said, no better than she ought to be. She was, I should say fairly, not physically unattractive, but her nature was such as to repel anyone who came to know her. Fortunately Thor was very understanding about what had happened and I learnt later that she had been thrown out of the house for some transgression or other. My friend would not say what so I thought no more about it. Besides, by that time I had other concerns in my life.

۩۩۩۩V♔R۩۩۩۩

In January of 1865 my mother suffered a mild winter illness, but she wrote instructing me not to cease my studies just for an unnecessary visit. I did so anyway much to the annoyance of my father, and even though it was indeed only a minor ailment my return home led to Words between us. Some two weeks later I was back at college when a fellow student, one Peter Goodfellow, casually mentioned to me that my youngest brother was very ill. His own return to the start of the college year had been delayed by a family funeral and he chanced to live not far from me in Kennington. I wrote home immediately to my father and, suspecting that he might not be open with me, also wrote to Mrs. Goodfellow who would know what was going on (I heartily concurred with Peter's opinion that the government should long have employed her as a spy; she was so nosey). My cynicism may have been unfair but it was not unwarranted; I received a blithe reassurance that all was well from my father and a report from Peter's mother that had me on a train to London that same afternoon. 

Sherlock looked terrible when I first saw him. As I have said, both he and Mycroft tended towards gauntness but honestly; had he turned sideways he would all have disappeared. Worse, the doctors were conflicted as to exactly what was wrong with him, although there was a general consensus that he needed time away from the city. It was this that led to a full-scale row with my father who expected the boy just to 'buck up'. And with my brother Mycroft, had not the slightest understanding of humanity. 

It also emerged that Sherlock had been ill for some time at the boarding school the two had been attending in the Surrey Hills, and that Mycroft had discouraged his sibling from 'bothering' their parents. Whilst I am sure my father was appreciative of such an approach, I was most definitely not, and I insisted that the boys be relocated to a school far out in the country. Mycroft of course resisted the change, but eventually it was agreed that he would go to a boarding-school for the final year of his education before moving on to college, whilst Sherlock would be registered as a day student at a nearby grammar school. I was not completely happy with the arrangement although I accepted it, but I made sure that my youngest sibling knew to provide me with regular letters about his progress, and that he understood failure to do so would have on the first train up to see why.

Family matters remained difficult, and it may have been that whatever had been ailing Sherlock transferred its attentions to my father early the following year for he was thereafter very weak. My grandfather Sweyn Holmes, who still ran our family estates from his house in Sussex, insisted that I take control of the family finances which despite my having barely achieved my majority I felt compelled to do. Fortunately he was there to assist me with my new duties, and I was very grateful for that.

۩۩۩۩V♔R۩۩۩۩

My relations with the fairer sex caused me further problems in the year 1867, as I neared the end of my studies at Oxford. Ever since the far too forward Miss Hardland I had largely eschewed women to concentrate on my studies, but at Thor's birthday party that fateful November I had far too much to drink and once more found myself walking up with female accompaniment in my bedchamber, this time the daughter of an American businessman who had paid for her to spend a year in England. Miss Christiana Plantaganet (a curiously English name) was very beautiful but it quickly became apparent that we had little in common and we parted soon after – only for her to reappear in April with the news that she was pregnant! And worse, she had telegraphed the news to her father across the Atlantic who had promptly disowned her.

My father, who was only just beginning to recover from his recent illness, suffered a relapse and my mother insisted on my marrying the girl, which of course I had to do although I insisted on waiting until I had finished my studies that summer. It was just days before our wedding when she went into labour a full month early and was delivered of twin boys. Sadly it proved to much for her and she died within hours of the second birth; she was later laid to rest in the family plot as her own family still wished to have nothing to do with her. As the boys had been born on the twenty-fifth of October, the anniversary of the renowned Battle of Agincourt, I decided to name them Crispin and Crispinian, the saints whose day that victory had been won.

It was not considered The Done Thing for parents to spend all their time or even the majority of it with their young charges, especially if they could afford the staff to do it for them, and with my father now recovering and Mycroft having finished his four-year course in just three years (show-off!), my parents wished to take the family to France. In spite of the fact that my mother's sister Rosemary and her husband (a bank manager called Mr. Charles White) had offered to raise my sons in our absence, I could not tear myself away from the last reminders I had of my short-lived marriage, and eventually stayed behind as the rest of the family went to Pau, a city lying in the lee of the Pyreneean Mountains on the Spanish border. They spent some three years there whilst I managed the family's estates and my boys, but towards the end of 1871 my father fell ill again and they returned to England. My father died but seven days into the following year.

۩۩۩۩V♔R۩۩۩۩

We now come to the first of the 'new' cases that I am proud to present to the British Nation and the World. To his many readers, Sherlock's first case, only later revealed to his friend Watson, was _The Gloria Scott_ in 'Seventy-Four. In fact there were two cases that date from the year prior and a further seven before the two met and they moved in at the address that will be forever linked with their illustrious names, 221B Baker Street. And the first case up not only involved my good self, but completes the explanation of my 'absence' from Sherlock's stories.

Let the crime-solving begin!

۩۩۩۩V♔R۩۩۩۩


End file.
